


you are my forgetful

by Kirsten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Genderswap, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-29
Updated: 2008-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-13 15:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/138734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirsten/pseuds/Kirsten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam got married on a summer day, in a little white church southwest of Frisco City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you are my forgetful

**Author's Note:**

> For oxoniensis on her birthday in 2008. Thanks to Destina and rivers_bend for beta reading.

Sam got married on a summer day, in a little white church southwest of Frisco City. She was gorgeous, tall but still shorter than Sam, with cherry lips and long dark hair that caught the sunlight yellow. She was the kind of girl who laughed those times Sam flicked her ear and called her Shorty, right before she punched him in the shoulder. Sam never could decide if she meant to hit him as hard as she did.

Her real name was Linda, and despite all the punching she didn't seem to mind what Sam called her, so long as Sam kept doing that thing with his tongue whenever they were in bed together, or in the kitchen together, or in the Impala and parked by the side of the road together.

The day of the ceremony, Bobby pulled up in a beat up old Camero, paint work faded silver in places and rusted red right by the wheels. Bobby wore an old suit with flare pants, but his tie looked new, blue and striped with gold. It was Linda who spotted him first, standing by the porch trying to scuff the dirt from his boots.

"Yo, Sam," she said. "Who's the pimp master general out there?"

Sam went over and leaned over her shoulder to look out of the window. "That's … that's my Uncle Bobby," he said after a minute.

"Huh," said Linda. "He gonna stand up for you? Because I gotta tell you, I love that look. Why can't you dress great like that?"

"You're the one who picked this suit."

"I was joking. I was _joking_ about the suit." She rolled her eyes at him in a way Sam thought was supposed to be meaningful. "Can't you take a joke?"

"Obviously not," Sam said, and poked at the carnation in his shirt.

-

That thing Sam did with his tongue:

It was hot and it was wet and it was really kind of wriggly, and it always always always made Linda grind her hips up into Sam's face, at least until Sam gripped her hips and held her still and steady while he tongued her deep and thorough.

"You like that?" Sam asked, because it drove her mad whenever he stopped, and all those punches across the shoulder, man, sometimes they left _bruises_. "Is this okay for you, sweetheart?"

"You're a fucking dick," Linda always moaned, and that would be when she tugged his hair almost as hard as she punched him. "Just hurry up and fuck me, Sam, you lousy son of a bitch."

Sometimes Sam fucked her exactly like she asked, and sometimes he didn't. Those times he didn't, he kept licking her and sucking her until she was ready to go, and then he'd pull away and touch her lightly, and then sit back and watch her clench again and again while she thrust helplessly into the air. "Jesus, just touch me," she'd beg, and he'd say, "No," and jerk off and come all over her stomach.

Those times he fucked her, he fucked her exactly how he wanted it. On her back or on her belly, or on her hands and knees. One time he made her stand up and then bend over and hold her ankles, and he fucked her like that for as long as he could, which wasn't as long as he'd planned, because she was hot bent over with her breasts hanging loose, unsteady on her feet and trusting completely in the strength of his hands.

"I don't get you," Sam murmured one night. They were lying side by side, panting up at the ceiling.

Linda didn't say anything for a while, and Sam thought she'd fallen asleep. Then she said, "Were you like this with Jess?"

Sam turned his head and looked at her face. She was flushed pink in the light from the moon and held her lower lip tight between her teeth. She met his gaze, and it was the first time Sam wondered if she was afraid.

He told her, "It's different with you," and hoped it would satisfy.

She bit her lip until it started to bleed, but she didn't ask any of the questions Sam imagined some girls would've asked, so he thought it was probably okay.

-

The day of the ceremony, Linda walked up to Bobby and said, "So where is this loser brother of his, huh? You should totally be Sam's best man." She brushed the lapels of his jacket and grinned. "I'm loving the suit, man. I'm _loving it_."

Bobby frowned, but he didn't dignify her chatter with a response. "Sam, I need a word with you. In private."

Linda pouted and put her hands on her hips. "I thought we didn't have any secrets?"

"Please tell me you're joking," Sam said, and ushered Bobby through to the kitchen.

-

The greatest thing about Linda was the way she never asked questions. She never asked about Sam's family, or his car, or what he used to do when he lived in California. She just _understood_ , she fit right into Sam's life like she'd always been there. He never worried about keeping secrets because he knew she had secrets of her own. She never asked about the salt he painted in around the windows and the doors, never asked about the Devil's Trap he carved above the fireplace.

"You could use a sharper knife," was all she said, and passed one right on up to him. Sam was standing on a chair at the time, his head tilted back, focused on his work. It was a bread knife she gave him, kind of long and not suitable for amateurs, but amateur was one thing Sam Winchester was not.

"Thanks, baby," he murmured. Later that night he fucked her in front of the fire, right under the Devil's Trap, in an attempt to reinforce his sense of gratitude. He fell asleep that night wondering if he'd managed it.

He woke up to one hell of a blow job.

-

"See, the thing is," Bobby said, taking a sip of the beer Sam gave him. "The thing is, Dean's not gonna make it to the ceremony."

Sam gulped down a mouthful of his own beer. Somehow he was not exactly surprised.

-

The night Sam met Linda was the night he left Dean. He was drunk off his ass in a bar in Wisconsin. Precision beyond the state-wide was beyond him at the time. He remembered grief, and anger, and then beautiful lips and laughing green eyes. He remembered tequila, and sliding his hand between bare thighs hidden by a barely-there short skirt. He thought he might have mumbled, "You have eyes like my brother," while he fucked her in the alley out back, but he dismissed that for his own peace of mind.

He woke up in another one of those cheap motels he'd thought he'd left behind, in a bed lumpy with age under a blanket that scratched at his skin. His mouth tasted like death – it was a statement Sam felt he could make with no small degree of certainty – and his head ached like it did that time Dean accidentally smacked him with a tire iron.

There was a naked girl lying next to him.

That was Linda.

"Mornin', sexy," she kitten-purred into his ear. "I went out and got you breakfast. Some nice, greasy bacon and pancakes." She rubbed his stomach and licked his neck. "That'll set you right for the day."

Sam didn't remember much else about that first day, apart from the hour he spent throwing up in the bathroom while she lay on the bed and laughed. She ate all of his breakfast, too.

-

Another way Sam reinforced his gratitude was this:

Linda kept a knife strapped around her ankle at all times. Sam kept it good and sharp, and he always handed it right back to her after he'd taken his turn sharpening their knives.

"Thanks, Sam," she'd say, and Sam always said, "You're welcome," like it was just another thing, like taking a turn at the laundry.

Yet another way was this:

He never asked her where she went when she snuck out of the house at night.

-

Linda drove them to the church in the Impala, but she pulled over at the side of the road a couple miles before they arrived. She twisted sideways to smile at him head on. Sam let his eyes travel the length of her torso, let himself enjoy the swell of her breasts and the sweet, clean lines of her neck. She had a tan line from the halter neck she wore the day before, and her lips were shiny and dusky pink.

Linda asked, "You remember the night we met?"

Sam said, "Yeah," even though he didn't, and all he could think about was licking that line where pale met brown.

"You told me I had eyes like your brother," she said.

Sam couldn't help himself. He looked at her eyes. They were exactly like Dean's, and the grin on her face was exactly like Dean's, too.

"I –" He tried to speak, but couldn't get the words out. "Linda, I –"

"Jeez, Sam, relax." Linda laughed at him. Not a lot, but enough for him to feel like an idiot. "I'm messing with you, man."

"That's not funny."

"It really is," she said. Sam fixed her with his best pissed off glare, which made her laugh some more. "Oooh, baby," she said, and covered her mouth with her hand. "Are you angry with me?" She blinked at him, all coy and coquettish. "Are you going to _punish_ me?"

Sam shook his head and grinned, and spent a few seconds staring at his watch. He figured he could fuck her over the hood of the car in the twenty minutes before they hit zero hour, but the thought of it didn't satisfy. He settled for sliding his hand between her bare thighs, like he did the first time all those months ago, and then he leaned over her and cupped her crotch and held her there, pressed back against the window.

He touched her glossy pink lips with his thumb. "I kind of want to smudge you up a little," he said. "Kiss you and kiss you and get you all wet in your pretty little panties."

"I wore white," she said, breathless. She smiled while she said it, and Sam decided she was breathless with laughter as well as with lust. That sealed the deal: there was no way she was getting fucked on the way to the church.

He let her go and sat back. "Why don't you drive on? We've got a wedding to get to."

She stayed sprawled out over the seat for a second, and then narrowed her eyes at him. "You think you're such hot shit, Sammy Winchester."

Sam laughed, because payback? She was a bitch. But then Linda straightened up and fixed her hair in the rear view, and stretched out across his lap to rummage in the glove box. When she sat up, a pale blue garter dangled from her finger.

Sam gulped. Linda grinned and slid the lace over her foot, up her leg until it wrapped around her thigh. Her dress was short, and the blue peeked out and winked at Sam from under it.

She said, "I win."

Sam said, "Yeah, you do."

-

"Dean finished up that job," Bobby said, back there in the kitchen. He didn't add, _That job you walked out on._

"And then what?" Sam asked, as he fiddled with the label on his beer bottle.

"Can't rightly say." Bobby drained his beer and set the empty on the counter with a thud. "Got a letter couple days back. _Tell Sam I can't make it._ You know Dean," Bobby added, pulling out his hip flask. "He always was a wordy son of a bitch."

-

The other greatest thing about Linda was the way she knew when to shut up and let Sam think. She let Sam think as deep as he wanted for as long as he wanted, and she didn't question him when he got done.

They lay side by side on the bed. They didn't touch, not even in idleness. Sam thought about Linda. He didn't like to guess what Linda thought about.

Eventually, Sam turned his head and looked at her. She was already looking at him, through green eyes that glittered like glass in the rain. Her lips were bitten raw, and there was a little fleck of lipstick on her teeth.

Sam asked, "You really want to be married to me?"

Linda laughed and smiled, but there was self-loathing on her face. "You sure that's the question you really need to ask?"

-

That little white church wasn't much of a church, kind of tumble-down and ruined. Linda left the engine running and turned up the Metallica, and then strode down what was left of the aisle in a little white dress, with a pair of black biker boots on her feet and that pretty blue garter wrapped around her thigh. Sam wasn't the only guy could see it; there was Bobby, and these two trucker guys Bobby pulled in along the way.

"Since when did you get ordained?" Linda stood next to Sam and looked doubtful.

"Since Sam here asked me to officiate," Bobby said. "Shut up and say your vows. I am not doing this twice."

All in all, it was pretty nice. Sam gave Linda a ring and the carnation from his buttonhole, and the biggest trucker guy, Mike, he turned his face to the side and wiped his eyes with his shirt. Sam kicked Linda before she could laugh, and Linda kicked him right back, right before she promised to love him _and_ obey him until death do they part.

"But only in certain circumstances," she added, and Sam was amazed to see her blush. "And always under protest, you can consider that a given."

"Oh, of course," Sam said, while he thought about fucking her long and slow on their way back to the house.

-

"Too bad your loser brother didn't make it," Linda said, when they were back at home and lying on their bed.

Sam wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to his body. She was warm and flushed with excitement, until he whispered, "Dean."


End file.
